


The Care and Feeding of a Wild Adventurer

by virusq



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Action/Adventure, Australia, Australian Aboriginal Mythology, F/M, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, POV Female Character, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/pseuds/virusq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Found at your local bookstore, the inside cover would state: "Reporter and documentary director, Elena Fisher, explains the proper care and feeding of a wild adventurer.  Complete with a step-by-step guide, feeding schedule, and handy list of emergency numbers.   *Now with anecdotes for every chapter."</p>
<p>Set after Uncharted 3, Victor Sullivan ropes Nathan Drake into a fact-finding, globe-trotting, adventure.  Not to be left out, Elena Fisher pushes together the pieces to the puzzle and discovers they're in danger riiight at about the same time they're in too deep.  Told from Elena's POV, with an OFC villain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Care and Feeding of a Wild Adventurer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveparade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveparade/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to loveparade, who asked for an Uncharted story reminiscent of an Indiana Jones adventure. Naturally, that meant diving face first into local lore and history of which I knew absolutely nothing about. 
> 
> Profuse apologies to the actual historical figures (and their families) who are mentioned here. I did not mean to portray anyone in a negative light, so much as a dramatic, obviously over-the-top one. (If anything, I hope anyone who reads this fic bothers to go read about the historical figures listed here, because ... damn, they were some interesting individuals.)
> 
> Also, apologies in advance to any Aboriginal Australians I may or may not offend with my limited knowledge of Dreamtime mythos.
> 
> And, as always, thank you to my extra set of eyes, my betas and idea-bouncers. Your time means the world to me. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

**The Care and Feeding of a Wild Adventurer**

_By Elena Fisher_

  
Congratulations, reader! You've recently acquired your very own Wild Adventurer. Someone that would climb to the top of Mount Everest to fetch you rare flowers but can't remember to set his watch in new time zones! Someone that actually knows how to catch and train messenger pigeons but can't be bothered to check his voicemail! What are you legally obligated to do when your Adventurer is passed out on the couch and Interpol shows up on your doorstep?  
  
Fear not, dear reader! Keeping your own Wild Adventurer is very rewarding. They're quite loveable and tend to enjoy cuddling, even if they'd rather swim through the Ganges than admit it. They respond well to encouragement and tend to be very open minded regarding the world around them. Their fierce loyalty will get them (and yourself!) into some tight situations, but they're always reliable to brighten your day.  
  
Collected here, dear reader, are some tips that you may find beneficial in your journey toward happiness. Remember to always keep an open heart and an extra clip.  
  
Elena  
  
…  
  
 **Embrace His Family**  


It's late, one evening, and they're watching television. Elena's curled up on the couch, effectively trapping Nate in a corner, which is a must to keep the man down. It's an effective maneuver, but the fidgeting leg takes some getting used to.

Nate's cell rings and she squeezes his knee, warning him not to take a call while they're spending time together. It's a slow process, domesticating the wild adventurer, but she's willing to go the distance.

But he shrugs and flashes her an apologetic smile. 'It'll be quick,' his eyes promise, so she relents.

He answers within a heartbeat of her acceptance. "Whatcha got?" 

Nate nods while listening, drumming his fingers on the sofa. Elena takes advantage of the shift in position and nurses her tea. His actions betray an excitement, which he fails in attempting to subdue, and she sighs. 

"Yep. Yeah. She's right here." Nate nods toward her. "Sully says hi."

"Hi, Sully." She responds, dutifully.

"Oh, ouch. She totally blew you off," he lies.

Elena scoffs and socks him in the shoulder. "Hey! Ow! Now she's beating me for interrupting her soaps."

Elena's jaw slacks in mock disgust.

"Which one?” Nate gestures broadly at the television, grasping at concepts and ideas as they flit past his focus. “It's the one where they fact-check everything on Wikipedia.

"No, you’re right: that really doesn't narrow it down.” His eyebrows knit together and his laugh-lines sag in disinterest as the man on the other end of the line continues with the questioning. Sully’s easy to distract with evening television, it turns out. “I don't know. Ask her sometime."

Nate catches Elena’s patience fading and mimes Sully’s end of the conversation for her amusement; a finger over his lip for an independently wiggling mustache. She giggles and he returns his attention to the line. "Yeah, I'll check it out tomorrow. Okay, then."

When the call ends, he sets the phone down and returns his attention to the television set. Elena watches his attempts to elude the inevitable inquisition and arches an eyebrow.

"And?” She prompts.

"And what?"

"What did Sully have to say?"

"He wanted to know if you were caught up on _Burn Notice_."

Elena blinks away the deflection. "No, what's the job?"

"Oh!" Nate smiles and folds his hands behind his head, relaxed. "Nothing. Some pictures he's going to shoot over. I'll look at them in the morning."

"Oh. Okay."

Elena hesitates before returning her tea to the table. The severity of the lie Nate's telling is directly proportionate to the width of his smile, and his pearly whites are so visible that she can watch the television in their reflection.

She sighs, dismissing the dreadful scenarios her imagination is concocting about their near future, and crooks her elbow across his lap, settling her head against his stomach. He's warm and smells like fresh laundry: a rarity she's come to appreciate.

She’ll just have to trust that Sully has Nate’s best interests in mind.

...  
  
 **Learn His Weakness(es).**  


Adventurers have a thing for shiny objects and Nate is not above that cliche. When he’s not out pilfering famous landmarks, he’s probably pocketing company pens. (At least she convinced him to stop stealing silverware.) He has a knack for sorting through a pile of rubble and finding an ancient treasure, and it’s a valuable talent. Literally.

Unfortunately, as much as she loves the shiny trinkets, they tend to come attached to shiny women. And this one glows like a Peruvian fertility idol: a cocoa brown suit accentuates some legendary curves, sun-kissed skin, and spun-gold eyes. Her hair alone undoubtedly requires a dozen virgin sacrifices to maintain. 

The auctioneer invited them out to authenticate some diamond trinkets she’d acquired through her trade, except the diamonds appear to be missing. Josephine takes Nate’s hand and leads him toward the a display case, then gestures at a stack of color photos and magazine clippings describing the items stored within. 

Thankfully, Sully picks up on the maneuver and swoops in to insert himself between Nate and the auctioneer; of whom, judging by the way he snakes an arm around her lower back, Sully is very interested in keeping for himself. Elena mentally high-fives Sully and makes a note to buy him a drink. 

Elena swallows her pride and follows the trio toward the objects in question. They look like comically large pocket watches, to her, or maybe sundials. Whatever they are, they’re scratched and crusted and obviously missing their centerpiece features.

Also, they’re completely authentic. The little stress-lines around Nate’s eyes give it away. There are very few things that can capture his attention like the relics that lie before him, and two of them are within kissing distance, growing bored.

After giving Nate time to turn the objects around in his fingers and hold them to the light, the woman looks to Sully. 

“Well?” she asks.

Sully takes a deep breath and rocks on his feet, then draws his free hand across his face. A stalling tactic. Yep: definitely authentic. 

“These things take time,” he answers.

“Oh, of course,” the woman responds, only slightly deflated. She shifts her weight and relaxes into the crook of Sully’s arm, placing her hand atop his on her hip. “I don’t mean to rush. My buyer is very excited.”

“I could use a drink,” Sully prompts, tilting his head toward the exit. “Maybe we could step outside and give the kid some time to catch up on your research.”

But it’s Nate that deflects the offer. He peels his eyes away from the trinket and stares her down, curiosity made even more intense by the spot-lighting. “Where’d you say you found these?”

“Jerusalem!” Josephine is all too happy he’s taken the bait, springing away from Sully’s grasp. “A friend was clearing out a client’s library in Jerusalem. He was hoping they were nautical relics from Sir Petrie’s era.”

Nate draws himself up and reluctantly abandons the silvery trinket to fold his arms across his chest. His face softens into a glowing smile. “Would that friend have an address?”

Josephine’s eyes widen in excitement as she leans in closer to Nate, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do … do you think there are more?”

Nate’s eyes light up and he reaches for the objects, flipping them about and laying them down in an ordered manner. Concentric discs flip out of the relic with a tinny “clink” and he places them flat on the display case. Josephine gasps in shock, but there’s something in her body language that hints it’s not entirely news.

The scratches are intentional: not time worn lines but calculated scrimshaw. It’s a map. Or, part of one.

Nate taps a hole in their big picture and grins. “X marks the spot.”

Behind them, Elena and Sully share an exhausted sigh.

...  
  
 **Learn His Smiles.**  


Nate has a smile for every occasion. There's one he uses to levy a joke, one he uses to clue Cutter into the conspiracy, one he lets slip past his guard when Sully compliments him, one reserved for a well-timed punch, and one he uses to remind Chloe that she's still his #1 wheelman.

There's one reserved for those quiet moments between he and Elena, too. It's subtle and sneaky, but it can be captured from time to time.

But it's this smile, the one with the extra teeth and the creases above his cheeks, that sets off the flares. It's the one where he can't quite look her in the eyes because there's something more behind it. It's the dangerous smile: the half-hearted attempt at convincing himself of the lie he's feeding her.

And she can spot it a mile away.

Elena plants her hands on her hips, her stance wide in defense. “You’re going through with this?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” He explains, desperate to get out of the house and stretch his legs. “Come on! Treasure maps, antiques, and war torn countries? How could I pass that up?”

Her eyebrows quirk and she can hear the stress-induced migraine beginning to drum behind her ears. She shields her eyes, fingers massaging her temples. "How long does this gig last?"

He scoffs and waves his hands, conjuring an imaginary number. "Four, five days at most."

She frowns. He hasn’t put a lot of thought into this, yet he’s already packed and purchased the tickets. She loves his spontaneity, but she seems to need more recovery time between adventures. "Sully’s going with you?"

"Naturally." He shakes his head in exaggerated movements, suggesting he too picked up on Sully’s interest. He grabs his bag off the counter. "He can’t wait to serenade Josephine with the dirty details."

"And?" She crosses her arms, prompting for the comment he’s been evading.

“And … oh shit.” Nate stops, cringing. He places his hands squarely on Elena’s shoulders. His gaze drops down apologetically before producing his best sad-puppy pout. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. I’m sorry.” 

"Just..." Concerned that further pressing will drive him away, she backs down. She uncrosses her arms and places her hands on his chest to smooth out his wrinkled lapel. "Just be careful."

"Always," he assures her with a kiss.

And flashes _that_ smile.

...  
  
 **Don’t Smother Him.**  


Elena promises herself she won't call him when he's scheduled to land. She reminds herself that he's spending time with friends and he deserves his space. She assures herself that, in the event of a tragedy, someone would contact her. You can always trust kidnappers to be timely with their demands, right?

She packs a bag, just in case. It keeps her hands busy.

The last time she pestered him, his phone got dropped into the ocean. Repeatedly. Whereas Israel has no ocean, she wouldn’t put it past Nate to trade his phone for something ridiculous. Like a camel ride. Or souvenir sand.

She eventually falls asleep while watching the news, because when you’re panicking, the best thing to watch is how the world is falling apart around you. Later, she wakes with a start to a text message notification: Nate's landed. She checks the time and sighs: they’ll never win their battle with time variation.

She’ll give him a few days before calling.

...  
  
 **Keep a Support Network.**  


It’s been three days since Nate’s last text. Elena does the math and tells herself he’s probably lost another cell phone. No news is good news, right?

But she can’t help herself. Someone has to know what he’s up to. Sully’s too old fashioned to sell out his partner and Charlie wasn’t invited along for the adventure.

She chews on her lip and dials the phone.

“Hello?”

“Chloe?” She winces, feeling slightly ridiculous. Nate’s simply lost track of time. There are absolutely no freemason conspiracies at play whatsoever. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“For you, sunshine? Never.” There’s a small pause on the line where any other individuals would discuss weather or politics. Their commonality remains one topic: “What’s Nate gotten into this time?”

“That obvious?” Elena asks, cheeks burning. She hates prying into the lives of Nate’s friends, but no one really knows him better than the family he’s built himself. “He’s okay. I think. Actually, I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Shit. He’s not surfing Photosynth again, is he?”

“Photo what?” Elena asks, mentally cataloging a new red flag.

“Photosynth. Maps of historical sites composed from cheesy tourist photography. Great for stak--.” Chloe catches herself before divulging trade secrets and dismisses the idea. “Nevermind. What’s bothering you?”

“He went to Jerusalem with Sully and I haven’t heard from either of them in three days.”

“Huh,” Chloe grunts.

“Huh? Huh what?” Elena echos with concern. “Chloe, if you know something, you have to tell me.” 

Chloe sighs, toeing the tattle-tale line. “I spoke with Victor, yesterday. They were in Egypt.”

“What?”

Chloe’s cringe is audible; fabric on her shoulders crunching through the phone. “And headed toward England,” she continues.

Elena almost drops her cell. “Chloe!”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Chloe verbally smooths over the wrinkle like a fine linen. A fine blood and tea stained linen. Smoothed over a crime scene. “Just having a little chat.”

“What are they doing? Why did they call?”

“That I don’t know,” she admits. “It was probably something to do with ritual daggers and ancient blood pacts. You know, those two have a knack for upsetting even the most passive deities. Did you hear about the time they offended the Mayan Rainbow Goddess of Childbirth?”

“What?”

“I’m afraid I can say no more,” she sighs. Chloe explains the next part clearly and uninflected, as if reading her laundry list: “My job as wheelman and confidant dictates I must refrain from telling you anything about their plans to invade Darwin.” She underscores the key notes with reiteration: “Have you ever been to Oz?”

“Chloe,” Elena starts, anxious but strangely relieved, “Thank you.”

“Go get him, sunshine.”

...  
  
 **Do Your Research.**  


It's a fourteen hour flight and not her first. Elena packs lightly, bringing gummy bears, USB chargers, and as many glow sticks as she can smuggle through customs. 

She spends most of the flight glued to her tablet, digging for anything that can tell her what the boys have gotten themselves into. She's good at it, too: she's a journalist, it's kind of her thing.

The problem starts Sully’s girlfriend: Josephine Cinders. She can find plenty of documentation and history for Cinders Acquisitions, but she can’t even find a Facebook page for Josephine herself. She can’t find anything on Victor Sullivan or Nathan Drake, either, hinting the lack of results only proves they’re in the same business.

Elena moves onto the relics; or astrolabes, as she quickly identifies. Astrolabes, used by mariners for centuries, were rendered obsolete by the end of the 1700s, which meant Petrie (the name Josephine dropped) shouldn’t have been carrying one around. Body language around the room implied the astrolabes were authentic, however, leading her to believe they were older, or more valuable, than tools.

Also, underlined in one National Geographic magazine featuring archeological digs in Egypt, (currently occupying the seat to Elena's right in a strategy to claim the window seat and the aisle seat for easy access), is comment about Flinders Petrie having lost a few "family heirlooms" to the Royal College of Surgeons of London in a friendly card game. 

Given that the Royal College of Surgeons also kept his decapitated head in a jar, (a fact that she's sure Charlie will attempt to impress her with when they all get out of this mess), she's willing to bet the card games were anything but friendly and Sir Petrie's "family heirlooms" were probably the astrolabe's missing diamonds.

Which, after three cups of coffee and one in-flight movie, explains what the boys were doing in England. It does not, however, explain her current trip to Australia. 

On accident, searching for "Sir Flinders Petrie" turns up a result for "Sir Matthew Flinders:" the British navigator that mapped the Australian coastline in the 1700s, and Petrie’s grandfather. Given the amount of documented nautical disasters that are attributed to Sir Flinders, she starts to wonder if the astrolabes weren’t a cruel joke awarded by his fellow sailors, or -- even worse -- simply cursed.

As she stares at the screen, searching for the key detail she’s missing, she releases an aggravated grumble which flusters the sleeping passenger in front of her. She apologizes and returns to Google, which unhelpfully suggests: "Did you mean AUSTRALIA?" 

At that point, she decides it's best to get some rest before they land, or rather: before her tablet gets sacrificed to the glittering Pacific.

...  
  
 **Trust Your Instincts.**  


Elena’s picking up her baggage when Sully calls. He plays it cool, telling her how amazing and safe the trip has been, but she can hear the misdirection in his voice.

Time freezes for her, as she acclimates to the temperature difference and everyone else hurries along around her. Afternoon sunlight spills through the scenic windows and she covers her eyes to combat the excessive visual stimulus.

"Elena?"

"Sully, I'm here," she explains, hoping he'll cut the crap.

He chuckles, but it's forced. "I thought I'd lost you for a moment!"

"I'm here. I'm in Darwin," she repeats.

She can hear his teeth brushing against his mustache: the nervous tell that he's adjusting the story. "Darwin? Where on hell is in Darwin?"

"Sully, where are you? Nate's not answering his calls."

The line is silent, but she knows he'll relent. She uncovers her eyes and sheds a jacket or two. "Humpty Doo," he says.

"What?" She elbows past a group of tourists to get a glimpse at the airport map. "What does that even mean?"

"No. Humpty Doo. It's a--" He sighs, flustered. "Look. Just flag down a cab and tell them: Humpty Doo."

"Where's Nate?"

"I'll explain it all when you get here,” he says, which she’s pretty sure is Sullivan-ese for: ‘Take your time, I’ve got a local IPA and the waitress is cute. Oh, by the way: Nate’s missing.’

"Sully..." She shakes her head, then notices a well dressed driver standing 15 feet to her left, holding a sign that has her survival instincts firing at all ends. "Sully, is Josephine meeting you here?"

There's no hiding the surprise in his voice. "What?"

She ducks behind a kiosk and double-checks the sign: "J. Cinders." Seconds later, the auctioneer appears, approaches the driver, and hands off her luggage.

"I have to go," Elena whispers.

...  
  
 **Don't Ask About the Details.**  


There's a watering hole at the southern edge of Humpty Doo that the taximan decides Elena needs to visit. He's a charming man whose accent is just thick enough to make conversation impossible. She tips him extra for ignoring the fresh cuts on her jeans and the mud she’s leaving in the passenger seat.

When she swings the bar door open, Sully springs from his seat and rushes to help with her bags. He's a perfect gentleman until they take their seats in the corner booth. 

"What the fresh hell happened to you?" He asks, signalling for two new drinks. "You're late."

"Messed with fire." She deadpans, accepting her beer and guesstimating how long Sully's been waiting by the number of cigars in his ashtray. Answer: too long. "Where's my husband?"

Sully waves off the jab like a fly. "Walkabout. Something about rainbow lizards and dying stars."

"A walkabout?" Elena stammers; she can't quite decide if she's relieved or pissed at Nate's sudden spiritual enlightenment. She settles on pissed and files it for later. "He couldn’t get that out of the way three deserts ago?"

Sully almost flinches. "Cutter sold us out?"

"Chloe."

" _Goddamn minx_ ," he curses. 

They both spend the next few moments nursing their drinks and listening to the background noise of the bar. An ancient CRT television sits behind the bar, talking to itself about political boundaries and property disputes. A couple of local farmers argue about the weather and switch to the weekend's football match.

Sully leans back and drops his arm behind the chair. “You know about the diamonds?”

“Surgeons’ favorite suit.” Elena wiggles an eyebrow at him, feeling self-satisfied. “Figured that one out on my own.”

“Clever girl,” Sully admits. “How about the mines?”

“Oh. Didn’t catch that part.” Elena sits forward. “Wait. Argyle’s known for industrial diamonds; is that why we’re here?”

Sully nods, impressed. “All the fingers point at Port Darwin. Nate figured Splinterhead--”

“Flinders.”

“-- left some clue near the bay: old notes, ex-girlfriend, harbourmaster, something. Started going on about some ‘Stream of the Sacred Sparkle Snake’ or such and headed out.” His eyes flicker to the ash tray and back. “Been about 9 hours.”

Elena’s not sure how to respond to that, so she takes a pull from her drink. Sully clearly doesn’t buy into the story about Sparkle Snakes any more than he does retirement. And Nate has been known to track down rainbows for leprechaun gold. 

It’s late and she’s exhausted. 

Sully breaks the silence. "So Josephine's bad news? Figures."

Elena arches an eyebrow. "You didn't know?"

He shakes his head. "I had a hunch. There's a fine line between vixen and villain, and Nate's a goddamn Magic Eraser. How'd she burn you?"

"She didn't. Not directly." Elena curls her fists on the table and studies the dirt under her fingernails. "I followed her out of the airport to a lawyer's office and a construction site. She was meeting with a crew that didn't look happy. I tried jumping the fence, for a closer look, but it didn't pan out." 

Urban climbing is not as easy as Nathan Drake makes it appear and her arms hurt just thinking about it. From the looks of it, Victor Sullivan empathizes: he pats his knees subconsciously.

"I know she's dirty," Elena continues, ignoring the quip that undoubtedly flashes through Sully's mind, "And I can't find anything on her. She's just ... perfect. Too perfect."

Sully grunts in agreeance, (to the wrong portion of the statement), and Elena makes a face. He tips his bottle in a lazy salute. "To Josephine Baudin."

Elena pauses, completely sober. "What did you just say?"

"Hey," he defends, "Perfection is perfection. Good or bad, it deserves recognition."

"No. Her name," Elena demands. "What’s her name?"

"Josephine Baudin," Sully repeats.

"Oh, shit," Elena curses, reaching for her bags. "We have to find Nate. Now."

...  
  
 **Take Up Tracking (or Consider Electronic Alternatives).**  


They've been driving through the brush for hours. The sun's starting to heat up, slowly braising them under a inky haze of monsoon clouds. It occurs to her, as she's stowing the tablet, that she's glad she invested in a water resistant rucksack. Of course, "water resistant" would be useless when faced with underwater adventures, but what are the odds of that occurring?

They picked up a heading by asking the locals if they'd seen a scruffy adventurer: Americans on walkabouts have a tendency to stand out. She knows she's on the right path when they start spotting caution signs about flash flood zones and crocodile crossings. (Call it a hunch.)

When the asphalt ends, they take dirt roads. When the dirt roads end, they stop the car. Sully exits the vehicle and stretches his legs with an impressive array of popping noises. 

Elena searches the area. They can hear rushing water, nearby, and that's one option. The other is to turn back and search for an alternate route. They're surrounded by a wall of scrub brush and neither of them know much about tracking.

"Well, shit," Sully says. "Did you try his cell?"

"Yes," Elena answers, hanging her head in defeat. "Several times."

"I say we stay put and wait for the monsoon to wash him out." Elena stares at the older man and he shrugs unhelpfully. "Could always follow the sound of gunfire."

She sighs. "The last thing we need right now is gunf--"

And, as if on cue, gunfire shatters the conversation. 

...  
  
 **Don’t Jump to Conclusions.**  


One shot. Two. They’re followed by two more. 

Elena’s heart drops to her stomach; Sully’s already starting the car.

They follow the sound back to the previous fork in the road and are rewarded with two more bursts. The car bounces, suspension unforgiving, across the washboard road. Raindrops spatter against the windshield.

A few more piercing cracks assure her Nate’s still standing: more, or much less, and the situation would be over before they arrive.

Elena frisks the seats, frantic. “Where’s your gun?”

Sully abandons the formalities and reaches behind his back to produce a pistol. He hands it to her without missing a beat. Elena frowns, considering how practiced the move is, and decides not to question it. She checks the chamber and clip, then rolls down her window.

The car goes slightly airborne at the next hill, and they fly into the clearing. Ahead of them, Nate stands with three men. All four of them spin around to address the speeding vehicle: at least one of them is armed.

Elena’s a good shot, but the car’s too erratic for her to drop the gunman without hitting Nate. She fires a warning shot and all four men hit the deck. Sully curses and whips the car into a defensive stop. Elena steps out of the car, ducking behind the door for cover.

“Nate?” She yells, praying she didn’t actually hit anyone.

Nate’s responds quickly, pushing himself up from the dirt. “ _Elena_?”

With Sully providing her cover from the other side of the vehicle, she’s a bit more comfortable surveying the area. It’s just them and everyone seems to be unharmed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Nate answers, helping the other men to their feet. “Until someone went all Annie Oakley.” Nate retrieves his gun and holsters it, then gestures for Sully and Elena to do the same. “What the hell, guys?”

Flustered, Sully stands from cover and returns his own weapon to wherever it appeared from. “We heard gunfire,” he offers.

“And where there’s gunfire, there’s trouble? Nate must be in the middl-- Nevermind.” Nate laughs at his own expense. He shakes his head and plants a hand on his hip, the other waving toward the other men. “Guys, the blonde woman and the crazy mustache are my friends.

“Elena, Sully: my captors here are Barwon, Girra and Sam.” He claps both hands onto the shoulders of the smallest man. “Girra here asked if I’d show him how to fire a gun.”

Across from her, Sully drags a hand across his face. Elena expresses her own embarrassment with an inarticulate squeak and presses her palms to her eyes. “I thought...”

Nate smirks, amused. “He wants to be a ranger,” he adds for an extra wince from Elena. “You know: to help people.”

Sully chuckles, fishing a cigar out of his pocket and lighting it. Elena would complain but she’s busy raking both hands through her hair, coaxing the tensions out of her shoulders. She takes a deep breath and focuses on her goal. “Nate, we have to talk.”

“Great,” he snaps, pressing his gun back into Girra’s hands and pointing to far off targets. “You two head back to town and when I’m finished here--”

“Josephine’s using you to steal land from the Warramal.”

That gets the attention of Nate’s friends, who all look to him for an explanation.

“No. No, she wants diamonds.” Nate argues, turning to Elena. Her face is stern, stance immovable, so he searches Sully for a better outlook. He doesn’t find one. “She said-”

“She can’t mine until she can prove she owns the land,” she continues. “If you tie Petrie’s astrolabe to Flinders’ discovery, she gets it all.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam interjects, shaking his head. “Sir Flinders only navigated around the port; he never claimed any Warramal land.”

“Flinders wrecked a few ships while sailing around and blew his budget mapping the continent. He found the mine and offered diamonds as payment to his rival, to repair the ships. When Baudin tried to claim the mine as his own, Flinders hid the map and tried to destroy the evidence.”

Nate’s shoulders slump and Elena can almost visualize his inner adventurer and conscious pummeling each other across them. “She’s after Baudin’s claim.”

Sully chews his cigar. “Time to fold, kid.”

...  
  
 **Wear Your Seatbelt.**  


Nate’s friends disperse when it starts to rain. They wish him well and urge him to get back to paved roads before the rain washes out the trails. He follows Elena and Sully back to the car and the pouting starts as soon as Sully turns the engine.

Elena tries to salvage the ride by mentioning that she hears Greece is wonderful, this time of year, but the conversation blows over like a giant wet blanket. She elbows Sully for support and he adds his two cents about a beach festival in Sydney that they could hit before flying home.

But Nate’s far more interested in watching the rain assault the windows. The only time Elena sees him spark an interest is when they’re driving over a rickety wood bridge and the water from the flooded riverbed splashes over the railing and throws itself into the wheel wells.

Mostly because that’s all he can see when Josephine’s SUV rear-ends them. 

Sully struggles to keep the car on the road, but the sheer force of the impact overpowers the wheels and pitches them into the river. Elena’s seatbelt knocks the wind out of her, airbag exploding open and hitting her square enough that stars blind her vision. It doesn’t help that Nate’s feet slam into the back of her seat, either. Nate tries the back door and curses whomever invented child safety locks before dropping down beside her. 

Gingerly, Nate props a shoulder under Elena’s hips to support her weight before unfastening her harness. As the weight transfers from the car to Nate, she groans: safety-shaped bruises blossoming across her ribs. She’d hop off his shoulder and grab a gun, but the only thing she can really focus on is the array of colors the sunlight spills on the seat.

Sully rescues himself up by planting his feet, slashing a knife through airbag and cutting the seat belt; he’s slow, and obviously in pain, but he knows what he’s doing. He shouts a warning as he lifts his gun to the backseat window, but his shot is interrupted as the car is rear-ended again.

As the three of them hit the front windshield, Sully fires at it. Under the pressure, the shots shatter the glass. The three of them are sucked out of the vehicle, into the rushing water, and pulled downstream. Shortly afterward, the car follows them, flipping onto its canopy.

Elena gasps for air when she emerges from the water. Sully’s farther down the stream and Nate’s somewhere directly behind. She hears gunfire, but it’s washed out by thunder and the raucous screeching of the sheet-metal tomb drifting toward them.

Flash floods ignore obstacles like tree stumps and large rocks, but Elena doesn’t have that luxury. She scrapes against river rocks and slams into trees, clutching wildly for anything solid. The rapids pull her back under.

Everything goes dark when the earth swallows them up.

...  
  
 **Rest While You Can.**  


Elena is having the most fantastic dream. It's dark and the bed's warm. She's hot under the collar with Nate wrapped around her like an overprotective teddy bear. He smells like dirt and sweat and campfires. She has butterflies in her stomach, tracing her fingers down his abs. Just a few more inches and … Sully coughs and suddenly the dream is a nightmare. 

Elena’s eyes spring open, but the darkness doesn't fade. Blind and disoriented, she frantically nudges Nate. He rolls away and mutters a request for five more minutes.

Elena reaches into the inner pocket of her button-up shirt. It's soaked through and sucks at her bruised skin as she removes a glow stick. The chemical reaction is faint, barriers cracked in the wreck, so she shakes the tube to help it along.

They're in a cavern, underground. The stone walls surrounding them are cut smooth by centuries of water erosion. The soft yellow glow bounces off the stream that carried them in, now remarkably less violent but no less treacherous. The water's wide and continues down the cave, beyond the light. Nate's still out of it, scraped and bruised, but at least he's breathing. Sully gives her a thumb-up, signalling he's alive and not willing to move.

So they're safe. Kinda.

Elena frisks herself for another glow stick and produces three more. You never know when a quick, disposable light source is going to come in handy. Two are functional; the third's a dud. She tosses one of them over to Sully and tucks the other in Nate's pocket. 

"Now what?" She asks, sitting up and searching for an exit. Her voice doesn't carry very far, so the cavern can't be much larger than the light shows. And, shit, her chest hurts.

"Now we sit back and watch the pretty lights until someone gets a better idea," Sully grunts. The light has started to bounce and reflect off the water; it dances on the ceiling like tiny Chinese dragon lanterns, long strands of soft gold light, with little bright heartbeats.

"It's kind of like..." Nate drifts, eyes open toward the ceiling. Then he springs up, focused and squinting at the walls. He frisks himself, hands patting wet pockets with a purpose, and produces a small flashlight. The blue-hue light springs to life with a click and he waves it at the rock above him, slowly, studying the way the light refracts into dozens of tiny rainbows, fluttering across the river. "Son of a bitch."

Elena follows the piercing light toward the offending vision: the light intensifies in little immovable brown pinpricks above them. "Are those...?"

“Diamonds.” Nate whispers, reaching into a pocket to produce a handful of muddy brown diamonds that served as centerpieces for Petrie’s astrolabes. He turns about in the beam, watching them dance along with their cousins. “The river must cut them...”

“Tiny rainbow serpents,” Elena muses. “Aboriginal mythos. They’ve known about them, all along.”

"Congratulations, kid." Sully chuckles, lacing his fingers across his chest. "You've accidentally discovered the goddamn thing we were trying to lose."

"Oh, come on." Nate lowers the light and scowls. "Look at the bright side: we're alive, we’re rich, the man-eating snakes aren’t real... We just have to find our way out..."

"Before Josephine finds us," Elena sighs. She stands up and grabs Nate’s arm to stop him from pocketing the diamonds. “Nate, we have to leave them here.”

“What? No way.” He argues, but he doesn’t pull away from her grasp. She can see the facts being balanced in the back of his mind.

“Josephine’s going to follow the car, she’s going to find the cave and the mine,” Elena reasons. “If she doesn’t have the heirloom diamonds, she can’t link them to the mine. If we leave them here, she loses _everything_.”

Nate sets his jaw and grumbles, rolling the diamonds in his outstretched palm. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“This is why I love you,” Elena corrects, releasing his bicep and trusting him to make the right decision. It takes a moment, but he casts the handful of wealth away, stoically watching them sink into the mud.

Sully stands up and dusts himself off, eager to leave before temptation sets in. "Let's go, kids."

...  
  
 **Learn Self Defense.**  


They find their way out of the cavern by following the direction of the water until they smell fresh air. It's a bit of a hike, and they're all exhausted by the time they find the exit, but the idea of dry land spurs them on.

Nate sprints ahead, toward a shaft of twilight-red, and disappears into some rubble. Moments later, he's shouting encouraging words and random limbs sprout from the rock to guide the way. The gentleman that he is, Sully lets Elena go first. It's a tight squeeze, even for her, but after an inarticulate bit of wiggling, she's free and being caressed by an after-storm breeze.

Nate retrieves Sully, (far more vocally), and the three of them collapse against the stony outcropping they've exited from for a breather. They can't see much, other than an overcast sunset against a marsh, and Elena swears she can hear crocodiles sloshing through the reeds.

Nate stows his flashlight and points toward the top of the hill. "I'm going to grab a better view," he explains, already climbing.

Elena waves him on: he doesn't need permission to show off his skills. She watches him climb until he's just a slightly brighter blob on the side of the hill, and turns back to Sully.

“Next time we have an adventure,” she reprimands half-heartedly, “Make sure it’s after a season finale.”

“Tivo’d.” Sully retorts, shifting uncomfortably. He cracks a smile. “Just so you know: if we’d kept the diamonds, we could afford our own goddamn private showing.” 

“Don’t even start, Sullivan.” She scowls. “You two owe me for a last-minute international flight.”

“Which you had absolutely no obligation to buy into.” He wags a finger at her. “So, what were you were doing in Darwin?”

She wants to smirk and remind him she cracked the puzzle, that she saved their asses, but her mind starts to wander. Of course she flew to Darwin: they needed her. Sully needed an extra pair of hands. Nate needed a voice of reason. She felt left out. She needed …

_She_ needed a new adventure.

_Damnit_.

“I got bored,” she confesses, grinning at the realization. “Too many days without someone shooting at me.”

Sully chuckles, but it’s cut short. He curses and gets to his feet as Josephine’s driver presses a gun into Elena’s spine. Josephine walks into view, gun trained on Sully, and Elena briefly wonders if Sully’s still armed.

“I can fix that for you,” Josephine purrs, inviting herself into the conversation. “As soon as you tell me where your lovely partner has wandered off to.”

Elena’s too preoccupied with trajectories and scenarios to respond with anything other than a sneering growl. She’s smart enough to know that a muzzle in her back puts her attacker within an arm’s reach, and she’s slight enough to know exactly where her center of gravity is. If she can signal Sully to provide enough of a distraction, she can swing both of their asses out of the fire. Again.

“Ran for help,” Sully lies. “Just called from the ranger station.”

“Quite the feat, considering the storm knocked out the radio towers.” Josephine cocks the hammer, maintaining a sharp eye and safe distance from the ex-soldier. “Try again, love.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elena interrupts. “The diamonds are gone. Lost in the crash.”

“Then we will have to find them.” Josephine seethes. “If it means sifting through the riverbed with your teeth.”

Pebbles slide down the hillside, hitting the ground with a muffled thud, and Josephine snaps to the distraction. She thinks to look up a moment too late, however, as Nate launches himself from his lookout and lands on Elena’s captor. Completely blindsided, the driver crumples beneath Nate’s bodyweight, weapon flying from his hand.

Josephine moves to fire a shot at the falling adventurer, but hits the driver as Sully throws a shoulder into her attack. Elena’s retaliates with a fist. She swings a punch straight for Josephine’s face but catches her, cheek across the nose, as she turns. Josephine reels from the impact and falls into Sully, who slaps her arm before she has a chance to recalibrate her aim. The gun falls limply to the ground and she curses, hand completely numb.

Sully traps the gun under his shoe and kicks it over to Nate. With a slight push, Josephine steps forward, into a circle of angry adventurers, beaten and unarmed. 

“I regret my statement about teeth,” Josephine hisses through her working hand as she cups her nose. She glares daggers at Elena and Elena hopes her own stare one-ups the expression. “If it’s not too late, I propose a deal.”

“This better be good,” Elena scoffs. Nate just laughs. 

Josephine draws herself up, correcting her posture and attempting to straighten her attire while ignoring the stream of blood trickling down her lips from a broken nose. She’s a tough cookie, Elena relents, knuckles still tingling in pain. “Allow me to turn in the evidence and I’ll make you rich. Each of you.”

Sully’s laughter joins Nate’s, but Elena’s not amused: she knows a snake in the grass when she sees one.

“You have nothing on me,” Josephine continues, dedicated to her cause. The rain picks up again, dotting her stance with even more wear. “No deaths. Relics acquired legally. Vehicle damage is indistinguishable from negligence. Guns fired in self defense.”

Her eyes flicker toward Nate, who artfully claims a set of keys from the unconscious driver, climbs to his feet and marches toward her. She folds her hands behind her back and juts out her chin: bronze, beautiful, bloodied. “Best case scenario: I bury you for theft and assault.”

“I’m a nice guy,” he explains, crossing his arms to prevent jabbing her in the chest for every point he’s about to make. “So, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Hell, I’ll even pretend that you haven’t been using me to drive an entire nation of people from their homes for a quick buck.”

Nate sets his jaw and leans in closer, hoping she’ll shrink back. The rain is picking up weight and lightning cracks behind him, dramatically. Josephine doesn’t budge, but the effect is not lost. “But if you ever raise so much as a finger toward my partners again?”

Josephine finally cracks. She lashes out and plucks a visible astrolabe and flashlight from Nate’s pockets, then shoves him away with every ounce of strength she can muster. She bolts for the fissure in the hillside, small enough that it swallows her up within seconds.

“She’s going to die in there.” Elena draws a palm across her face and plants a fist on her hip. “Should we go after her?”

Nate slowly shakes his head and tosses Sully the keys. Reluctantly, the three of them set out to retrieve the SUV.

...  
  
 **Remember to Laugh**.  


They’re on a beach outside of Sydney, a week later. Josephine’s vanished and their adventure is nothing but a blip on the monsoon season fatality report: ‘Man Found Ejected From Car.’

Nate sells the remaining astrolabes to a collector near Encounter Bay to pay for the plane tickets home. They don’t make enough to pay for prime time flights, so they’re stuck in Sydney for the last few days of Christmas. And Elena counts any time she can con Nate into wearing nothing but swim trunks as a win.

Elena pulls a lime wedge from the neck of her iced cold beer and drops it in the sand. “There’s one thing I’m still curious about,” she says.

“Shhh. Just let it go,” Sully advises.

“No, I’m really curious.” Elena cocks her head toward Nate. “What were you going to do to her?”

Nate sheepishly slides his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose to avoid eye contact. “Crocodiles.”

“Crocodiles,” Elena scoffs. “What, like, you were going to push her into the lake and sit around until they ate her?”

“I thought Bunyips would be too far fetched.”

Elena gapes, but thinks better than to ask. They survived and that’s all that really matters.

...  
  
 **In Conclusion**  
  
Love the asshole no matter how stupid he can be.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Elena.


End file.
